Solace
by Falconcry
Summary: When nothing stands between him and death, when the end has finally made itself known, Cloud Strife must accept the truth.


It was a beautiful fall morning, pale rays of weak sunlight floating down from the ruined ceiling of the ancient church, capturing dust moats in their paths as they danced through the air with the carefree grace that the blowing wind brought. The pews were old, elderly wood, and like the building they were in were slowly rotting away after many years of exposure to the elements, but they were still beautiful in their serene air, like pieces captured in time without regard for the present date. The floorboards in the far end of the church had been missing for a while and in their place a small field of delicate wildflowers grew among forest green grass, waving gently in the breeze, brushing their creamy white petals on emerald stalks, but never more of a disturbance than a whisper among them. They had been planted to outlast the church itself, and in the deathly silence of the sanctuary lifted their faces to the rising sun.

The primordial doors of the church opened, creaking with their age, and a new sound filled the chapel. Black boots stumbled along the floor with uncoordinated steps, staggering like a drunk. Gloved hands gripped the backs of pews to keep from collapsing on the floor, leaving drying stains of red whenever his hands left the wood. Labored, ragged breathing echoed in the church, the sound amplified by the divine silence that swathed the whole area in a holy peace. But the injured man, this dying soul, knew nothing of the kind. Exhausted, anguished eyes of the sweetest of sky blues clouded with the cold fog of death that was upon him as he sank to his knees, his legs unable to support his weight any longer.

His clothes were soaked through with blood where tears in his lacerated flesh were eminent, and he coughed feebly, a trickle of rose-colored liquid leaking out of the side of his mouth. Jagged, ugly wounds marred his muscular arms, dried dark blood encrusted around them mingling with the fresh crimson that was ever leaking out of his body and poured down his arms like a stream, flowing with it his life force, slowly but surely. His shirt had been torn into ribbons to reveal a bloodied chest, long wicked slashes running deep into his skin, puncturing his lungs at points, filling them with bodily fluids and hindering his already strenuous breathing. He drifted hazily in and out of focus, the strained beating of his heart all he could clearly hear after the rest of the world had melted away into nothing. The edges of his vision were black and unclear, but he paid it no mind. He knew he was going to die.

Gasping as a sharp needle of pain stabbed through his chest, he fell forward limply onto the wildflowers, the force of his fall making them shudder. Crimson blood splattered onto the petals and he wheezed out another breath, fluids clogging his windpipe as he half-heartedly spat out a clot of blood. He let himself lie there, feeling the cool breeze rustle his blonde hair that was plastered against his face with dried blood. No one was going to save him; no one was going to hold him in their arms as he died. Nobody. He was alone. His heartbeat had slowed to a sluggish pulse that he could barely feel, but he did register feeling going out of his extremities, replaced with a numb coldness that dulled his senses with a wave of metallic froth that made his ears ring.

He would die alone. His mind was drifting, relaxing in preparation for his leaving this world, calming the soothing aches and fierce throbs of white hot pain that wracked his body, washing them over with a serene, ethereal grace that eased his tormented body. Cloud Strife, the invincible savior of the world, the indestructible soldier that always stood in the way of certain death, was living his out final moments. He couldn't feel his arms or legs now, just a dead weight slowly filling up what was left of his conscious mind, fading away into darkness. Cloud could barely see through the misty film that covered his eyes, dull, dusty Mako orbs, once so full of life were slowly losing their glow.

He would never be able to see any of them again. His friends, allies that he had fought the very fires of hell with, people that he would trust without question of their loyalty to him or each other. They would find his body here and mourn for his passing, but he would never get to say his final goodbyes to any of them. Tifa. Her name seemed to hold back the slowly advancing pall of death that was deluding his fatigued mind. She had feelings for him, cared for him, never let him give up on himself. He had always known, or suspected at least, for her affection, but now he was sure of it. She loved him, and now, with death imminent, he wasn't afraid to admit: he loved her too. His lethargic heartbeat fluttered and a lump formed in his throat, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He loved her, and now she would never know. Warm liquid passed through his tightly shut eyelids, a shuddering sob drowning in his mouth, too weak to even let it pass through his lips.

They had all deserved more than this from him. After he was gone all they would have to remember him by was a few scarce photographs of his scowling visage forced to look at the camera and a few memories, just a few, of what he was like at those rare moments when his eyes would soften and a faint smile would play around the edges of his lips. But they too would fade with time. His legacy… was nothing. How he would've lived if he had known how close the end had been, certainly not with his usual coolness. He felt himself growing colder; the warm rush of adrenaline at the thought of Tifa now replaced with the knowledge death was mere minutes away. Death. The one foe, no matter how hard you fought, no matter how hard you tried to escape, would always, _always_, catch up with you in the end. And it had found Cloud now.

His pulse was growing fainter in his ears, but even with his fading senses he could make out footfalls behind him. They stopped not a foot from where he lay, but he didn't have the strength to open his eyes and look at who was witnessing the final defeat of Cloud Strife. An explosion of pain whipped like liquid fire through his veins as a hard boot kicked him over onto his back, his whole body a live wire of agony, but all he could do was emit a soft moan as his face involuntarily contorted. A soft, velvety chuckle reached his ears, and rage flooded his dying systems, heating up his chest and face with its force and giving him just enough energy to crack open one eye. He couldn't see clearly anymore, just a small tunnel of blurred light in a field of midnight black, but he could just barely make out a silhouette standing against the blinding light.

"Cloud." That voice… that voice belonged to one man. The man he had hated for more than a decade, consuming burning, hatred the only emotions Cloud could muster at the mention of his name. Cloud cracked his mouth open and tried to speak, but couldn't, and he thought Sephiroth smiled, but he couldn't be sure. He felt a cold blade pressed against his throat, the tip digging into his numb flesh just hard enough so that he could feel it in his sea of fleeing consciousness. "Shall I ease your passing?" Cloud tried to snarl in defiance, to twist his features into a look of insolence, but he couldn't manage past a narrowing of his eyes and a twitch of his lips. The point of the sword dug further into Cloud's throat, making him gag weakly. "It will be a pleasure watching you die."

A pounding of footsteps outside the church drew Sephiroth away from his helpless victim, looking back at the doors as they burst open, slamming against the walls with a resounding bang as Tifa rushed in, and stopping a few feet away from Sephiroth. Her maroon eyes smoldered in absolute loathing as she glared at the former 1st Class SOLDIER, adopting a fighting stance and tightening her gloved hands. Cloud hiccupped painfully and stained to hear Tifa's angry words. "Sephiroth! Leave him alone!" Sephiroth's chilling, cold grin rose on his face, his eyes glittering frigidly as he turned to regard Tifa.

"But he is alone. He's been alone ever since he chose his path." Tifa's eyes narrowed, brushing her long dark brunette hair out of her face with an impatient flick of her hand.

"He's never alone as long as he has his friends." Sephiroth's eyes flicked over to the others, gaze nonchalant and quite bored. Yuffie, her ninja star ready in her hands, her brown eyes alight with fire; Cid, nearly unnoticeably readying his pike and returning Sephiroth's cold glare with even eyes; Barret, mouth set in a hard line and his gun arm moved into a more noticeable position; Vincent, eyes as red as a fine wine held up to the light, Cerberus held in one hand while his arms were folded loosely over his chest; Nanaki, a fierce, primal light in his working ocher eye and drew back his black lips just enough to show the one winged angel his vicious fangs, Cait Sith on his back. Yet in all this, Sephiroth did nothing but shake his head sadly.

"There is nothing you fools can do for Cloud now. Death's jaws are receiving him as we speak." Tifa's expression tightened and looked at Cloud, her eyes widening in shock.

"No…" She whispered, taking in Cloud's condition with disbelief etched on her face. Sephiroth did nothing to stop her as she rushed over; holding him in her arms and with a trembling hand brushed some of his hair out of his closed eyes, skin deathly pale. "Cloud, no." She said, her voice breaking with emotion as his chest barely rose and fell, ignoring the bloody stains he was getting on her clothes. He was nearly gone. Tifa felt a cold hand of terror seize her heart and tears welled up in her eyes, fingers gently caressing Cloud's bloody face. "Don't go, Cloud."

For the last time Cloud's eyes opened, filmy and glazed over, his fragile breathing barely audible over the volume of his tortured eyes. Moments trickled past, just them looking into each other's eyes, both of them knowing that this was goodbye. "I guess," Cloud whispered in a voice so low that Tifa had to lean closer to hear it. "That this is the end." Tifa let out a nervous laugh, tears spilling over onto her pastel cheeks, holding Cloud closer.

"Don't talk like that." She said, but he was looking past her now, up to the light beyond the ceiling, the sky. The sky was calling him. Cloud couldn't hear himself breathing anymore as a lovely face formed out of the light, framed by soft brown curls with eyes as green as the ocean, smiling down on him with angelic lips.

"Aerith." He mouthed the word, and with strength that was not his own reached up towards the light, eyes vacant, yet filled with a distant peace. Tifa's breathing sped up, her heart racing as if it was trying to keep them both alive, knowing she was losing him.

"_Are you ready?" _Aerith's voice filled his head as his vision blurred and darkened, and he remembered consciously smiling. A beautiful, genuine, last smile formed on his lips as his body relaxed and his eyes closed, shutting out Tifa's distraught face, the church, the world. His arm hit the floor as all feeling slipped away, and for a moment he couldn't feel anything. Not Tifa, holding his head to her chest as she rocked back and forth, shoulders heaving with hysterical sobs. Not Nanaki, who lifted his battle-scarred muzzle to the skies and let out a long, mournful howl, a single, piercing note that broke the hearts of all that heard it. Not Vincent, who inclined his head slightly, scarlet eyes harboring an expression of grief that he dared not show. "May you find your rest."

He didn't hear Sephiroth's nearly silent steps to peer into his face, mouth twisted with lofty distain as he spoke his final words to the fallen hero. "You win this time, Cloud." All Cloud could remember after that was his voice, clear, proud and strong, ringing out one last time.

"I'm ready."


End file.
